


be tormented by me, babe

by seaworn, watsoff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Harry introduces muggle music to Draco, M/M, Muggle Culture, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, working title: trashy boyfriends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9500762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaworn/pseuds/seaworn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/watsoff/pseuds/watsoff
Summary: “And what sort of recordings exactly does it play?”“Sirius had a bunch of eighties muggle stuff,” Harry told him with a beaming smile, “some of the stuff even I know! Led Zeppelin, and Judas Priest…”“Judas who?"





	

Draco was pretty sure that a substantial portion of his life nowadays consisted of waiting for Harry sodding Potter. They’d started an unexpected friendship not many months ago through Blaise, who had started his auror training a year after Harry, and they’d made quick friends. It had taken months of persuasion on Blaise’s part, but he’d finally managed to drag Draco along to dinner with the two of them. It had went better than he’d expected - Harry had grown into what used to have been gangly features, and took Draco’s snark a lot better than he used to. The first joke Draco had made, he expected to be punched in the face by Harry and escorted home by Blaise, but instead Harry had laughed heartily, and Blaise left early having made his excuses half way into the meal. Since then, lunches had become a weekly thing.

 

The bastard was still always late, though. They usually met in muggle places of Harry’s choosing to avoid the press; Harry’d owl him the name and address of the restaurant of the week, and they’d both be there on Thursday at noon. Draco at twelve sharp, or usually a little early as any sensible person would, and Potter, the fucker, always five to fifteen minutes late. This Thursday Draco was already eleven minutes into the wait.

 

He felt like some people were already looking at him questioningly, for he had only asked for a glass of water and was visibly waiting for someone. It was humiliating, which was enough reason to kill Potter, but during those eleven minutes of waiting, he’d also noticed that the the shoddy pub was filthy. His table was sticky, his shoes had already stuck on  _ two  _ pieces of gum, and he was pretty sure he saw ants crawling in the nearest corner.

 

When Harry _finally_ walked into the pub, three minutes later, he was smiling goofily and swaying slightly from side despite Draco’s attempted murderous stare. Only when Harry had taken of his coat and sat down, did Draco notice the piece of plastic pushing his hair down from ear to ear. Harry lowered it to hang around his neck, and grinned at him broadly.

 

“Do you know how late you are? And -- what the flying fuck are you wearing around your neck?”

 

“Headphones!” Harry declared in joy before clarifying. “I found Sirius’ Walkman - oh, a muggle thing that plays music from recordings - I guess that was a part of his pureblood rebellion. I had to buy new headphones, though - er, the things that carry the music from the Walkman to my ears - but I thought I’d try to keep it a bit old school. It’s cool, right?”

 

“And what sort of recordings exactly does it play?”

 

“Sirius had a bunch of eighties muggle stuff,” Harry told him with a beaming smile, “some of the stuff even I know! Led Zeppelin, and Judas Priest…”

 

“Judas who? Never mind - you’re late, again, and why the fuck did you invite me to a place like this? Had you come a minute later, I’d have escaped this hell hole and sent all of my clothes to the best Cleaning Charmers in town and given the number to your Gringotts account.”

 

“I only chose it for the name - Merlin, Draco, we can just go to another one, okay?”

 

Draco didn’t quite understand what drew Harry to Big John’s Burgers & Wieners - or rather hoped he didn’t - but he wanted to get out of the place. Fresh air would distract him for a bit, so he wouldn’t murder the oblivious bastard he was supposed to be dining with. 

 

Harry, in his good sense, agreed to let Draco decide where they should reside instead. Even if he didn’t have a particular place in mind, he wouldn't let Harry know - Draco had had the choice barely a couple of times with Harry, who most times dictated where they ate, and Draco didn’t usually mind. Besides, strolling through muggle London was a nice pastime activity. There was an intimacy in a crowd, that neither Draco or Harry regularly got to witness, choosing the comfort of their privacy rather the public slander / fawning / morbid curiosity from the public. Both war heroes and redeemed Death Eaters still got their fair share of unwanted attention, which they deflected with their best efforts.

 

October had brought autumn along quite suddenly - the midday sun did little but blind them when it hit them from a certain angle. Draco tried to protect himself from the breeze by hunching his shoulders, but he’d need to invest in some autumn accessories soon. Their knuckles brushed with each step in the narrow streets, and Draco couldn’t help but admire Harry’s scarf - he had a long, green one, wrapped around his neck half a dozen times. Effortlessly stylish, in a way Harry rarely managed, and it even managed to cover the most of the atrocity still hanging from his neck. He’d probably have to ask Harry where he’d bought it.

 

It would have been moderately lovely if it wasn’t for the noise coming from Harry’s - what were they called again? - headphones. All Draco could hear was banging, loud drums, and the occasional growl or grunt on low volume, and his head was already starting to hurt.

 

Draco slapped Harry’s arm. “Could you  _ please _ turn that blasted thing off while you’re with me?” 

 

“I can hear you just fine like this, Draco, now that it’s not covering my ears.”

 

“I don’t give a skrewt’s ass if you can hear me or not. I care about it sounding like a tortured troll, so please, put it away. What  _ is  _ that, anyway?” 

 

“It’s called heavy metal, Draco. It’s like rock music, only with better lyrics, vocals and guitar solos. It’s  _ amazing.”  _

 

Draco frowned. “Why do guitars need -” 

 

“And there are so many genres! I can’t believe I didn't know any of this before! There’s simple heavy metal, progressive metal - did do you know that Dream Theater’s longest song is  _ 42 minutes long? -  _ black metal, power metal, symphonic metal, even  _ folk metal,  _ with traditional instruments!  I have to say I’m a bit of a trash metal man, myself. Looks like so was Sirius! He has at least thirty records up in the attic. We could go through them together!” Harry blabbered with his stupidly green eyes twinkling. Usually Draco liked Harry’s bursts of energy - he wouldn’t be Harry if it weren’t for those - but he still desperately wished it wasn’t due to this nonsense. 

 

“Absolutely not,” Draco said, and almost immediately regretted it when disappointment flashed on Harry’s face. 

 

“I mean,” Draco fought the urge to weave their pinkies together when he felt Harry’s arm retreating away from him and reminded himself that he  _ didn’t _ actually want to turn down any invitations from spending time with this git, even if it included going through some nonsense music, “just - not now. Some other time? Please turn the music off and take me to proper lunch?” 

 

Harry’s smile returned and he nodded his head determinedly. He put his hand in his pocket, and with a loud  _ click _ the music finally stopped. 

 

Harry came to a halt and faced Draco.  “So, what are you in the mood for?” 

 

It wasn’t a trick question, but it sounded like one anyway. Draco had to bite the inside of his cheek to not blurt out something completely inappropriate \- he _may_ have been in the mood for a lot of things, but none of them included restaurants or food (necessarily). Harry wasn’t expecting for that, though, so Draco cleared his throat and mumbled an inconclusive response.

 

Harry looked quite amused at Draco’s sudden discomposure.

 

Draco didn’t know how exactly he’d gotten so fond of this fool. He really couldn’t explain what was so fascinating about a dishevelled boy who didn’t even seem to appreciate Draco’s time to enough to show up on time to their weekly meeting, but there you go. Draco himself usually made some effort, which included both arriving in time and looking presentable, in the least. Harry didn’t need impressing, but Draco liked knowing he could.

 

For that reason, Draco usually didn’t care about his wardrobe not being weather-appropriate. He knew he looked fucking  _ phenomenal _ . Some days, though, he wished he’d glanced out the window before heading out, and today was one of those days.

 

He hid his chin inside the collar of his jacket, and considered doing a heating charm, but he never seemed to get it just right - they never lasted longer than a moment, and dried his skin, somehow. 

 

“Are you cold?” Harry asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

 

Such a saint, this one. Draco was slowly but surely getting flustered by Harry’s proximity, his green eyes directed straight at Draco and that tangled mess of hair that dancing in the wind. Forgetting trying to be charming, or even moderately good company, he snapped: “Well, maybe if you hadn’t picked out such a crappy place for us to eat in the first place we would already  _ be _ somewhere warm. I wasn’t exactly expecting to take a grand tour through Muggle London, you know.” 

 

Instead of recoiling like most people did when Draco got in a bad mood, Harry barely blinked before starting to unwrap the monstrous scarf from around his neck, a smirk dangling on lips. Better than heating charms. Draco sometimes forgot Harry’s upbringing, but was forced to remember moments like these, when the muggle ways seemed to come to him more naturally than anything. Charming, in a way, Draco thought, and secretly loved how it would’ve made his parents feel.

 

Draco tried to protest but Harry opened his mouth first. “It’s you who’s being indecisive, remember?” 

 

Draco scoffed, but it was half-hearted at the most, because all of his energy went to pretending that Harry stepping closer and starting to curl the scarf around Draco’s shoulders didn't make his breath hitch. Harry’s warm fingers brushed against Draco’s neck in a way that had  _ no permission _ to feel like it did, and Draco tried to avoid looking at Harry in the eyes. 

 

“Weren’t you supposed to get a haircut?” he asked, Harry’s appearance being the first thing to pop into his head to shake off the awkwardness he was feeling.

 

“Yeah”,  Harry said, sounding all too innocent and unaware of how he was making Draco feel. He hadn’t let go of the scarf, his hands now resting on Draco’s shoulders. “But I started thinking that longer hair might suit me, y’know? I know it might get a little wavy, but...“ he shrugged, not completing his train of thought.

 

Harry’s face had suddenly gotten a lot closer to Draco’s. Draco should definitely have just said something to ease the tension, but instead he found himself standing absolutely still, revelling in the sensation of having Harry so  _ close.  _

 

They used to be almost the same height, all those years ago, but now Draco realised Harry had gotten an inch or two taller than him. Draco had to tilt his chin up the tiniest bit to look Harry in the eyes.  It was… nicer than he had anticipated. 

 

Harry had a mischievous glint in his eye, challenging Draco to react, but he was too dumbfounded to make move either way.

 

“Look at that. There was a way to shut you up, after all? Who knew,” Harry said, the last words barely a breath on Draco’s lips.

 

Draco wanted to be annoyed at him for being such a smug prick, but the reality of Harry pressing his lips against Draco’s melted all that out of him. Harry was kissing him, and Draco liked it. _Harry_ _kissing him_ \-  he went through the words three times in his mind, emphasizing each word in turn, and it sounded just as unbelievable each time. Draco was never going to admit to having daydreamed about Harry this way (sodding Potter), but found himself thinking _this is so much better than I’d thought_ , anyway. Eventually remembering he probably should respond, he took Harry by the waist to bring him closer.

 

Harry gave a pleased hum at that and brought his own hands to Draco’s cold cheeks. The slip of Harry’s tongue on his was pure heat, which pooled in the pit of his stomach and threatened to take over him all too quickly.

 

Draco pulled away an inch, before all sense of control would desert him.

 

“I don’t think so,” Draco said, keeping Harry firmly in place and his tone light (quite an accomplishment, being as out of breath as he was). He didn’t want Harry to think for a moment this was rejection, and was glad to see his expression was only questioning. “You can't grow your hair out. You don’t get to do what you just did again, if you grow it out. The choice is yours, of course, but I rather think you’d look absolutely ridiculous,” he smirked, high on feeling the air from Harry’s chuckle on his cheek.

  
He resisted the urge to nuzzle Harry's neck, instead pulling back and running his fingers through Harry’s dark strands. Harry’s bright smile was an answer enough.

**Author's Note:**

> (you know you're a good match when joining forces in fic writing goes pretty smoothly??)
> 
> Please give us two non-native English speakers some slack and advice if you see fit! You can say hi on tumblr @yourplisetsky or @happydraco.
> 
> We would appreciate your kudos and comments, too. :)


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